


Til the End Do Us Part

by WriteThroughTheNight



Series: Since the Beginning [3]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Good Omens Fusion, Angels and Demons, Developing Relationship, M/M, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2019-06-16 06:15:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15430791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriteThroughTheNight/pseuds/WriteThroughTheNight
Summary: Andrew isn’t looking at him. Instead, he’s perched on the edge of the building, wings arced behind him as he gazes out at the campus. There’s something free about him that Neil has missed. A pure wildness and an untouchable distance that tells the world that Andrew has witnessed worse than this and that he will not be broken.At the moment, Neil envies him. While he’s witnessed worse, he still feels perilously close to breaking.ORAndrew and Neil are still an angel and demon respectively, and it's about time that meant something (they keep playing Exy, of course).





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! I'm sorry this has taken so long to get out there. Real life has been busier than I planned, but I've never stopped thinking about this series. I appreciate all of your comments and enthusiasm, and I'm so glad you keep reading!
> 
> The third part of this series is going to be longer than the other two, so I've decided to publish in chapters instead. Each chapter will be a single point of view, switching between Neil and Andrew, like usual. 
> 
> If you haven't read the first two parts, I would recommend you read those first, or else this might not make much sense. 
> 
> All mistakes are my own, and thanks for reading.
> 
> Enjoy!

One thing that Neil hasn’t gotten used to, in the past sixty years at least, is the way that scars fit against his skin. Or worse, open wounds.

Back before he went on the run from Down There, an injured body was easily exchanged for fresh one that he could mess around with as much as he’d like. No scar was permanent, no wound needed a full human time of healing, because Neil was an indestructible being of power. The past sixty years have been a wake up call, and not a pleasant one.

Neil doesn’t have extra bodies now, because when this one finally lets go, he’s going straight back to Hell. Despite what Andrew might think, his stupidity doesn’t extend to thinking that he could manage to sneak in and out of Lucifer’s domain itself without being caught. If Neil goes down, it’s over.

But still, even then, it takes certain things to leave a mark on him. Neil can banish away normal cuts and bruises easily enough, but burns from Holy Water, gashes from blessed blades, and vicious runes carved into his skin linger. Most of what Riko did lingers. It doesn’t help that Neil still feels so hollowed out and powerless that he can barely manage to make his cigarette burn without a lighter. After his third try sputters out, Neil gives up and digs through his things for a match.

It’s an admission of weakness he’s glad no one else can see.

Neil swings his legs over the roof of Fox Tower, the cold wind not bothering him as much as the rough concrete hurts his back. Wymack hadn’t protested much when Neil left that morning, as if, despite everything, the human knew when Neil needed space. Most of the Foxes come back today, at least the ones Andrew considers his. He’s had plenty of time but Neil still doesn’t know what to say to them. It was his decision to leave the bruises fresh on his skin (arguably not a decision at all, considering he can’t even light a stupid cigarette). They might fit with the narrative of Neil being a fragile human, but they certainly make it harder to conceal what he got up to over break.

And then his hair, eyes, and tattoo… Well, at least the runes hadn’t changed his actual facial structure. That would’ve been a hard one to explain away. 

Neil will manage with the humans, he always has. More than anything else, he just wants Andrew. Sure they survived sixty years apart. But right now Neil is defenseless and weak, and he’s gotten too used to leaning on Andrew again. He needs him. It’s something that Neil came to terms with a long time ago, but now more than ever he needs his angel.

There’s the faint sound of wings flapping behind him, and Neil whips around, heart in his throat. But it’s just Betsy. Neil swallows his disappointment down like it doesn’t make his throat ache.

The archangel gasps and Neil abruptly remembers how he looks. She steps toward him, and Neil flinches so hard he would have fallen off the roof had Betsy not caught him. It’s a good thing she does, because Neil’s not sure he could have reacted fast enough to catch himself. This body can’t handle much more.

“Neil, what-“ Her hands are on his shoulders and he can feel her trying to heal him. Pushing her back a foot, he stops her. 

“Don’t. Humans have already seen.”

“What happened?” Betsy demands, fierce as he’s ever seen her. It’s confusing, the fact that she seems genuinely concerned. They’re natural enemies, she shouldn’t- _That never stopped Andrew,_ the traitorous voice in Neil’s head points out. He ignores it. 

“I spent Christmas in Evermore.” 

Betsy’s wings flare, and Neil had barely noticed they were still visible. Her face schools itself into a calm neutrality.

There’s a warning in her voice when she tells him, “Andrew won’t like that.”

Neil lets himself hope. “When are you giving him back?” He’ll deal with Andrew’s reaction when he has the angel in front of him.

Betsy gives him a sharp look, before softening. “Hopefully sometime in the next few days. I told Upstairs it would look suspicious if they kept him any longer.”

Neil closes his eyes and slumps down against the ledge fo the roof. Relief makes his head spin. 

“Thank you.” He doesn’t open his eyes. A hand brushes his shoulder, but when he opens his eyes, Betsy’s gone.

 

Neil sees Matt’s truck pull into the parking lot and grudgingly makes his way down to their room. Sprawled on the couch, he witnesses the cascade of Matt’s emotions from horror to worry to a burning anger. 

“Jesus Christ, Neil.” He doesn’t stop Matt when he leaves the room and punches Kevin in the face. It’s not Kevin’s fault, not at all, but what kind of demon would he be if he prevented some good old fashioned revenge? He’ll make sure the bruise doesn’t darken and Andrew won’t even notice.

When Matt comes back in, Neil tells him without flinching, “I'm not sorry, and I'd do it again if I had to. Andr-” Before he reveals too much, Neil cuts himself off. He smoothes his almost mistake into a transition and swallows the cold hard truth down where no one can see. “The Foxes are all I have, Matt. Don't tell me I was wrong for making the only call I could.”

“I want to break his face in six places. If he ever comes within a thousand yards of you again-” Neil’s essence warms at the threat. To be cared for like this, when Andrew is the only one who has noticed him in centuries… Maybe the Moriyamas were right. Loathe though Neil is to admit it, maybe he really is the demon that loves. There’s no other explanation for the way his heart feels full to bursting. Andrew would laugh, he’s sure.

Out in the hallway, Nicky, Aaron, and Kevin wait for him. Aaron doesn’t seem very impressed, not even glancing very long at his changed appearance. Neil supposes after Drekavac Aaron knew what to expect. Nicky gasps and drops his bags to gather Neil close. Instead of freezing, Neil finds himself relaxing into the embrace. He’s not usually grateful for his small form, but Nicky holds him like something fragile, surrounding him in warmth like only Andrew can, and Neil breathes. Yeah. He loves these stupid humans that treat him like family even though he could wipe them from existence with a thought. He loves them fiercely and wholly.

It must be written across his face, because Kevin clears his throat and begins speaking in French.

“You need to be more careful.” Neil carefully pulls back from Nicky and turns his attention to Kevin. He watches Neil like he’s a memory but he doesn’t flinch back. Neil’s impressed. “You look just like-”

“Riko carved into my ribs. I can’t change back, so all I can do is duck my head and hope for the best.” Neil shrugs, and the motion sends firing lacing down his essence as every one of his injuries orders him to stop. He ignores them. Kevin looks pained.

“I get it. You two have been together since the beginning,” Kevin waves a hand uncomfortably. “Whatever. You love each other, but there are more important things-”

“Like what, Exy?” Neil fires back automatically. Wait. “Excuse me? We what?”

Kevin looks even more uncomfortable. “I said it before, you’re the demon who loves.”

Neil doesn’t argue that, even as his face heats. Before they’d been apart sixty years, he never would have called it that. Even now the word sits awkwardly. “Andrew doesn't-“

Kevin steps forward and slaps a hand over Neil’s mouth. Scowling, he demands, “Are you telling me you two have had since the beginning of time and you haven’t figured this out? Andrew cut a deal with me to find you, it was all he cared about. And Andrew doesn’t care about anything.”

Neil’s mind churns desperately as reality rewrites itself. Kevin must be wrong. He must be. 

 

Betsy doesn’t have to call to tell him Andrew is back on Earth. Neil can feel it in his very bones, his unconscious awareness of Andrew registers the angel getting closer and closer. Everything in Neil’s world is right once more. Andrew’s essence flares bright, like it was always meant to, strong and sure and true. No ambrosia or wards muddling the waters. Neil feels Andrew enter the Tower, can even hear him in the hallway with the others if he stretches his hearing but. But.

Neil stays inside his and Matt’s suite. More than anything he wants to see Andrew, wants to let the angel hold him up. More than anything. But his body aches and screams, lines of fire cross his chest, and burns like acid pull tight across his shoulders. They feel like betrayal and like shame, and Neil knows Andrew won’t be happy. 

He stays in the suite until Nicky knocks on the door. It hurts, but Neil levers himself off the couch to answer it. The human is twisting his hands in a show of nerves, even as he face tries to seem open and calm. “Hey, Neil. I, uh. Just figured I’d tell you that Andrew’s back and he’s off his meds.”

“I know.” Neil says. Nicky squints at him.

“Oh. I sort of thought you’d be in the hall with us to welcome him. I know you and Andrew have a- Okay no, I’m not even going to pretend to understand it.”

Neil shrugs and tries to look as blank and innocent as he knows how. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

Nicky stares at him. “Sure.” He says. “Anyway, I just wanted to give you a heads up that Andrew off his meds is. Well, he’s a lot different. You never knew him before the drugs and Columbia doesn’t really do it justice.” Neil longs to tell him just how wrong he is, but he holds his tongue. He settles for shrugging again and going back into the suite to grab his cigarettes and Andrew’s armbands which conceal a few of his blades. Neil had taken them from him after Drekavac just in case, and it was time to return them to their rightful owner.

By the time he’s back in the hallway, Matt muttering something that sounds suspiciously like good luck, Nicky hasn’t left. The human eyes the sheaths with alarm. “Maybe not a good idea to arm him right now.”

Neil snorts, already heading toward the stairwell. “As if Andrew needs a knife to kill someone.”

The trek to the roof feels longer than it should. Neil has to catch his breath by the time he reaches the door. Reminding himself that he doesn’t actually need to breathe doesn’t help. Figures that this body would be so done with his shit that it starts malfunctioning. 

He takes a big, unnecessary breath and pushes onto the roof. The cold takes him by surprise, and Neil tries once or twice to tell himself he doesn’t feel it. He gives up when a particularly sharp breeze cuts through his thin clothing and resolves to convince Andrew to go somewhere warm. Ashamed of his weakness, Neil’s essence itches.

Andrew isn’t looking at him. Instead, he’s perched on the edge of the building, wings arced behind him as he gazes out at the campus. There’s something free about him that Neil has missed. A pure wildness and an untouchable distance that tells the world that Andrew has witnessed worse than this and that he will not be broken. 

At the moment, Neil envies him. While he’s witnessed worse, he still feels perilously close to breaking. 

Neil steps as close as he dares and slides the armbands across to Andrew. Still without glancing at Neil, the angel pulls them on, hiding the runes that have faded to the pale white of scars. Finally, finally, Andrew turns and Neil can breathe again. The angel’s face is blank and uninterested, steady and calm without a hint of volatile emotion. There’s no out of place smile or fake laughter, there’s just Andrew. The Angel of Earth, _his_ angel.

Neil’s knees wobble a little, this stupid body unreasonably weak, but Andrew is there. Steadying him with a hand on the back of his neck, turning the air around them warm. Neil remembers this unyielding, unquestioning weight that can hold him and all of his problems up without breaking a sweat. He takes one breath and then another, eyes fixed on the collar of Andrew’s shirt. Without making eye contact, Neil points at Andrew’s shoulder. “Can I?”

After a moment of hesitation that drags out long enough that Neil almost rescinds the question, Andrew says, “Yes.” 

With a shuddering exhale, Neil rests his forehead in the crook between Andrew’s neck and shoulder. The rest of his body holds itself carefully away from Andrew, but the two points of contact are enough. He shakes, just a little. The strain of trying to be fine, fine, fine with no one there to call him on it when he’s not. The strain of feeling utterly defenseless and vulnerable with no one to to watch his back. The strain of hurting and being alone, because the Foxes can never be Andrew… Neil shakes, just a little and Andrew only tightens his grip on the back of his neck.

“Neil.” He chooses not to lift his head yet. Andrew squeezes the back of his neck. It’s not a threat, but Neil lifts his head anyway. Andrew is a gloriously blank slate, but his gaze is intent. “Abram. What the fuck.”

Neil’s not sure what he means. Does he mean the bruises covering Neil’s face? Or why Neil hasn’t banished them away? Does he mean Neil’s almost breakdown?

He’s too tired to play guessing games. He just stares back at Andrew and lets him look his fill.

"Did I break my promise or were you keeping yours?” Andrew’s voice is deceptively calm, but Neil knows better.

“Neither.”

“Don’t lie to me.” Deep in Andrew’s eyes is an anger Neil barely recognizes. Kevin’s words suddenly seem more reasonable, because this is Andrew. Calm in the face of death and destruction, but it is Neil that can bring this out in him.

“Neither.” Neil repeats. “I went to Evermore by choice.”

Andrew goes still. “The heights of your idiocy astound me.” The bandage on Neil’s cheek disappears without Andrew so much as twitching. Just imagining the four, stark on his cheek makes Neil want to curl inward. Andrew doesn’t let him. “Show me the rest.”

Neil nods, suddenly shaky. He gets the sweatshirt halfway up his torso before something twinges and pulls and he has to stop for breath. Andrew huffs in annoyance and bats his hands away. The sweatshirt disappears, leaving Neil’s torso bare except for the tape and gauze holding him together. Andrew unveils each fresh wound without saying a thing, but Neil can feel the weight of his stare.

“I promised they would not touch you again.” Andrew says. “Why did you make me break my word?”

“I had to. Riko said- If I didn’t, he’d get you reassigned to heaven. I couldn’t let that happen.” Neil searches for smirk, and manages one that’s not quite to his usual standards but is decently respectable. “You can’t keep your promises and sing psalms at the same time.”

Andrew grabs his chin and forces Neil to look at him. “Do not make the mistake of thinking I need your protection. That is not our deal.”

“How could I live with myself if I let it happen? Being trapped there would have killed you.” Neil bites back. Andrew’s hand is still on Neil’s chin, almost cradling his jaw. Whatever they say to each other, Neil doesn’t want to lose the contact. “You spend all this time watching my- our backs. Who’s watching yours?”

Andrew drops his hand and stalks a few feet away. A cigarette appears in the angel’s hands, already lit as he stares out at campus. The warmth goes with him and Neil shivers, bare skin immediately erupting in goosebumps. “I hate you.” Andrew says, almost conversationally. He turns back to Neil, and while he doesn’t frown, his eyebrows do a thing. A thing that Neil knows how to read. “Why are you cold?”

“It’s barely 40 degrees out.” Neil says flatly, but still he tilts his neck. Andrew’s eyes focus on the red ring of bruises that wrap around his throat. “There was a collar they had me wear, rendered me basically human.” Neil shrugs, and looks away. “So I couldn’t fight back. Everything’s still all messed up now, can’t even light a cigarette without a match.”

A rush of warmth banishes Neil’s goosebumps, and he’s suddenly wearing his sweatshirt again. When he looks over at Andrew, there’s a muscle in the angel’s jaw jumping. “I’m going to kill them all.” He steps closer to Neil. His hands aren’t gentle when they press into Neil’s cheeks, but his bruises switch from sharp pain into memories. They still paint his skin, but they don’t hurt, as Andrew saps the ache right out of him. 

His forehead finds Andrew’s shoulder again. Neil breathes smooth and slow as Andrew squeezes his nape.

“The next time someone comes for you, stand down and let me deal with it. Do you understand?” Andrew’s voice is still calm and steady, but underneath… Underneath he can hear the steel.

Neil shakes his head a bit, but Andrew stills him. “If it means losing you, then no. I went sixty years without you, and I won’t do it again. I won’t.” He’d rather die.

“I hate you.” Andrew repeats. But he doesn’t let go. He lets Neil lean on him, he holds him up. “You are a pipe dream.”

“I’m a demon.” Neil mumbles. It doesn’t sound very convincing and Andrew ignores him. In the back of Neil’s mind, Kevin’s words echo.

 

Neil doesn’t particularly remember getting into bed, or falling asleep, but despite that he wakes up on Wednesday morning under a pile of blankets. Andrew.

What’s more, when he sits up, his various aches and pains are gone. It doesn’t hurt to get dressed, or stretch out stiff muscles. He glances in the mirror, and the wounds are still there, as fresh and raw looking as they had been yesterday, but when he pokes them they don’t hurt. Between the full night’s sleep, the lack of pain, and the warmth curling in his stomach at the idea of Andrew taking care of him, of Andrew being this careful, well. Neil feels better than he has in weeks. If only his essence and powers were so easily healed. 

The suite is empty with Matt off at the gym, and so Neil might as well do some research. He heads down to the library.

It’s doubtful that Palmetto State will have the ancient religious texts that he needs to start formulating a plan, but it’ll be somewhere to start at least. He’s buried in a back corner, flipping through a religious tome about the twelve major artifacts of heavenly power, when he senses Andrew. Neil looks up and the angel appears not long after. 

After so long dealing with an Andrew twisted up into a manufactured joy, seeing him now, blank, a calm port in a raging sea, makes Neil smile.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Andrew bites out. His eyes flick down to the book Neil’s holding, and he sighs. “Explain later. We have practice.”

Neil follows him obediently out to the car, smirking. “I didn’t realize you’d missed Exy that much.”

“Shut up.”

Once in the car, Andrew makes Neil charge his phone, and he rolls his eyes. At the stadium, Abby undresses him carefully, tutting over his strange burns and cuts. He waits for the questions that he can’t answer, but they never come.

His first physical, it’d been easy enough to convince Abby that his scars weren’t there, that he was a normal, healthy, _human_ teenager. Now, Neil doesn’t have enough supernatural energy at his beck and call to so much as light a cigarette. And yet. Abby simply pokes and prods and disinfects, not saying a word. 

“What did Wymack tell you?”

Abby finally looks up. “About your new tattoo and style. And that your injuries aren’t what I’m used to.” As if that’s that, she goes back to her exam.

Neil clears his throat. “You won’t ask?”

“I’ve seen the way you bounce back from hits, Neil. I’m not as surprised as I should be that when you do go down, it’s a little different. I want to ask, but I won’t pry. David didn’t have to warn me that you’d keep your mouth shut.” She smiles, but its wry.

By the time Abby’s finished, some of the lines in her forehead have smoothed out. “You’re not in any pain, are you?” Carefully, Neil shakes his head. Abby sighs in what could only be relief. “Good. Good, that makes me feel better. I just want you to be okay, Neil.” She cups the side of his face gently, with one, soft hand.

It’s the same feeling as when Nicky embraced him, this overwhelming warmth and gratitude. These humans, these weak, oblivious humans. They treat him like he’s worth everything, like they love him. Regardless of the secrets he keeps, the lies he tells, the distance he tries to put between them and him—they love him. His whole being burns with his surety. He will protect them, he will keep them safe, because they are all _his_.

This must be what things are like for Andrew.

Despite the fact that he’s not really in pain, Abby can’t clear him, for appearance’s sake if nothing else. It chafes, but Neil understands, he does. Even if they don’t hurt, stitches can still tear and put wear on his barely surviving body.

Abby still looks unbearably sad as he gets to his feet. “I wish I could protect you all, but I'm always too late. All I can do is patch you up afterward and hope for the best. I'm sorry, Neil. We should have been there for you.”

“I wouldn’t have let you be.” He says, and stays very still as Abby hugs him. After a minute, he loosens and hugs her back. She’s so fragile in his arms, so brief, and he wonders if she can sense the steel rigidity in his soul that marks him as inhuman. 

Dan curses when she gets a good luck at him, but he’s not moving as gingerly as he could be, as Matt may have warned them about. When Matt catches his eye, Neil shrugs a little. “A good night’s sleep made all the difference.”

The girls don’t say anything else.

 

That night, Andrew is waiting for Neil on the roof. The cold still makes him shiver, but only for a second until a layer of warmth wraps around him. Andrew doesn’t so much as look at him until Neil steals his cigarette for his own.

Casually, Andrew grips the back of Neil’s neck. The faint uneasiness that has plagued him all day—from the vulnerability of being without powers, the constant attempts to appear like a recently trampled human—vanishes. He sighs and closes his eyes.

When Andrew tugs his forehead down to meet his own, Neil doesn’t so much as blink, loathe to break the spell. The touch calms him, centers him. Andrew squeezes the back of his nape until Neil deigns to open his eyes.

Andrew stares at him, golden and serious and sure. 

“I will protect you.”

Neil shakes his head, careful not to dislodge their foreheads. “You can’t do it forever. Eventually-”

“We have a deal.” 

“And I can’t hold up my end. I’m useless like this, I can’t protect myself, never mind protect Kevin and the others.”

Andrew’s mouth twists. “It will come back, Abram.”

Neil should feel happy at aggravating so much emotion out of Andrew, Kevin’s words twisting at the back of his head. And suddenly, they seem too close, so very, very close.

Neil holds still, and forces himself to speak. “It’s not a fair deal if I’m giving you nothing, Andrew. You should just-“

Andrew huffs out a breath, and the warm air brushes across Neil’s face. He’s near human and so sensitive to it that it almost burns. “Fine. Then find something else you can give me.”

The word tumbles out before Neil thinks about it. “Anything.”

Something flashes deep in Andrew’s eyes, gone before Neil can catch it. 

Andrew kisses him.

Neil somehow isn’t expecting it. Isn’t expecting the way Andrew guides him with the hand on the back of his neck. Isn’t expecting the fierce press of lips, the burn that lights him from the inside, the desire that seems new and out of place.

Neil kisses back. Fumbling and amateurish, but he fights Andrew for control in the way they’ve always fought each other. A fight that isn’t a fight so much as a dance. A fight that neither of them is supposed to win, but a fight that is meant to go on for centuries, millennia. 

Neil stuffs his hands in his pockets so he won’t be tempted to touch, and kisses him, kisses him.

Time drips away, but Neil is none the wiser. Too busy putting in the effort, sighing soft into Andrew’s mouth when the angel’s hand winds into his hair, too busy feeling.

Eventually, Andrew pulls back and Neil lets him go with a sound almost like a whine. 

His lips tingle, and Neil realizes he hasn’t been breathing, hasn’t felt the need to for as long as Andrew has held him so carefully. Not entirely burnt out then.

When he opens his eyes, Andrew is watching him with burning eyes. There’s a question in them perhaps.

“Yes. I want this, Andrew.” Neil feels breathless, shaken. But he means it.

“There is no ‘this’.” Andrew says. He sounds normal, bored almost. If it weren’t for the red of Andrew’s lips, Neil would almost believe him. Almost.

“There’s been a ‘this’ since at least the dark ages, and you know it.” 

Andrew’s right eyebrow twitches a bit, but he doesn’t address the claim. “It won’t be a part of any deal.”

“Of course,” Neil agrees immediately.

“Since when are you interested in,” It looks like Andrew’s searching for the right word. “Lust,” He finally settles on.

Neil shrugs. “I’m not really, not in general. I’m just interested in you.”

“I hate you. Ninety percent of the time the very sight of you makes me want to commit murder.” Andrew sounds unbearably bored by the idea.

Neil smiles. “What about the other ten?”

“I reserved that for when you open your stupid mouth.” Andrew informs him.

Neil laughs, and he feels lighter for it. “Kiss me, angel.” 

“Shut the fuck up.” But Andrew buries a hand in his hair and does it anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the kudos and comments on the first chapter! Hearing how excited everyone was, and how much you all still cared about this story really touched me. Seriously, thank you again, you are all incredible.
> 
> Sorry for the wait on the second chapter, but I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Oh and also feel free to follow me on tumblr at andrewjos10!

Andrew sets one foot back on Earth, and knows there’s going to be trouble. 

Being free of the ambrosia is like lifting a veil that he’d forgotten was there, like loosening a tie he’d forgotten was choking him. The result is an Andrew that can breathe, can see. The problem being, of course, what he doesn’t see.

Namely, Neil.

Now that he knows where to look, the stupid demon shouldn’t be able to hide from him, not when Andrew is searching. (And search he does, because after six millennia Neil is-)

But his essence is missing from Palmetto, from around Kevin, and before he’s even reentered Fox Tower, Andrew is furious. He ignores Bee warning him to keep his head down for awhile, stay off of Up There’s radar, because none of it matters if Neil is gone, if he ran again he’ll rend the idiot limb from limb-

And then, halfway to the elevator, there’s a flicker and the overwhelming sense of Neil. It sputters out quickly, but a part of Andrew that he refuses to acknowledge exists relaxes. Fucking demon. 

Interacting with the others without the high of the ambrosia—muddling everything and making him grin when he’d rather rage, laugh when he’d rather scream—is, well. It is something, perhaps infuriating, or boring, or a different laughable adjective, but Andrew simply doesn’t care. Now that he’s scraped his way back to full, unrestrained power, they seem all the more fragile, fleeting, meaningless. 

What does it matter that Nicky flinches from him like he has something to fear, that Kevin studies him like some strange creature from a story, that Aaron refuses to look at him, reeking of distaste and something like jealousy. Humans are fleeting. Gone so quickly, that they shouldn’t really matter. 

What matters are his deals. Deals with Aaron and Kevin ( _and Neil_ ) that have always and will always dictate his actions. They are a structured set of rules and restrictions that have never chafed, because while they are leashes, they are leashes that run both ways to collars equally tight around two necks, and so become something unlike leashes at all.

When these humans are gone, there will be more (and there will be Neil always Neil) and Earth will turn until the end of days.

 

Andrew lets his wings out on the roof and breathes. Perched on the edge, he sees not only Palmetto, but Cairo, Melbourne, Sao Paulo, and all of the other places he had once called his own. Sometimes he thinks there is not a grain of sand, a speck of dirt, an ounce of water, that he has not personally touched on this too small planet. There are few beings in the entire universe that can call themselves older than Andrew, and none except one that has spent as much time with this particular corner of Creation, and sometimes, with his wings out, overlooking the lights of a rising city or a falling civilization, Andrew feels ancient.

And then the door to the roof swings open, and there is Neil, and the moment passes.

An idiotic demon, wounded and weak and weary, yet still able to drag Andrew back from the abyss. 

 

Neil opens his stupid mouth, and instead of wheedling his way into a one-sided deal—like any respectable demon should—he says, “Anything.”

And it is too much, too much even for an angel endowed with divine power. It is too much, for a stupid, idiotic demon, hair burning in the sunset, one who wears stubborn and martyr like humans wear socks. It is too much, and something wells in Andrew’s stomach that he’d like to call hatred, but can’t in good faith.

So he cups the back of Neil’s head and kisses him. And then, when he says more infuriating, idiotic things that imply something like permanence, something like eternity, Andrew kisses him again. And again. Until the sky begins to lighten, and a new day dawns, like they’ve witnessed a hundred thousand times before.

 

The first thing Andrew does, after Neil leaves to go to class, is create a walking, blank faced replica of himself. It stares at anyone that tries to interact with it, and doesn’t speak. It’s a rather good likeness, if Andrew says so himself. He winds it up like a top and sends it to classes in his place. Now that he has the freedom, he’s not about to bother with relearning material he witnessed being created.

Andrew maintains certain liberties that Neil can only dream of at the moment. Not being on the run, he’s free to exert as much power and make as much of a splash as he’d like. So he sets the double off on its own, and points to a random city on a map. 

A blink, and he’s there. 

He finds a park with children and waits, with the patience of millennia, for a likely candidate.

There.

A little boy, maybe five or six, small for his age. There are bruises on his arms that look like fingerprints, and a black eye that he explains away to the other children as clumsiness. For all that he laughs and plays, he never loses his hunted look.

When the boy is alone, Andrew walks over to him and crouches. They are not dissimilar in height, like this, and Andrew knows from experience that there is nothing more frigh- _disconcerting_ than someone with the power to loom.

The boy regards him steadily, without an ounce of fear but a good pound of defiance. Good. He has fire still.

Andrew reaches out, and taps the boy’s eye with a single finger. The black eye vanishes, as do the rest of his bruises.

“No one will hurt you like that again.” Andrew says, in the boy’s own language. Dark eyes, flit away from an unbruised arm, and meet his own. “Do you believe?” A weighty question.

A nod. “Yes, I believe.”

There are few things more powerful than the untarnished belief of a child. No one will hurt this boy again, and whether he grows up to be ordinary or extraordinary, in this moment he _believes_.

Work done, Andrew stands to go.

“Who are you?” A small hand grips onto the hem of his shirt. And Andrew looks down. The boy no longer looks so afraid, but hopeful.

“The Guardian of the Eastern Gate.”

Andrew vanishes, and picks another city. 

 

He’s performed a few dozen blessings by noon, and if anyone Up There was watching, they’ve looked away by now. After all, there’s nothing noteworthy about an angel being, well, angelic. 

The next city he picks is a bit less random. 

A blink and he’s outside Kathy Ferdinand’s studio.

It’s a bustling hub, but Andrew doesn’t wish for anyone to notice him as he walks through a back door, so no one does.

It’s easy to find War. He simply follows the chaos.

He’d read somewhere, or more accurately Nicky had read and not shut up about it, that Kathy’s show was known as one of the worst places to work in entertainment. Embroiled in infighting, as much drama happened behind the scenes as on camera. Of course, Andrew hadn’t expected any less from the entertainment industry but alas.

He walks past two assistants drenched in coffee, and three more scratching at each other like animals. And there is War, with her flaming red hair, and charming smile. (None of the articles ever failed to mention that Kathy Ferdinand herself was an absolute darling and it was everyone around her that needed help.)

She spots him immediately, and the grin he receives has ignited some of the deadliest battles in human history. 

“Hello _Andrew_. To what do I owe the pleasure?” War waves him over to a spacious office. It has interesting decorations. Something abstract that is clearly different colored blood spatter, a sculpture of a fire shaped from bullet casings, and a model of a nuclear plant that holds pens. 

Andrew claims a seat in front of the huge desk that dominates half the room and crosses his arms.

“War. Are you in touch with the others?” 

She tuts at him. He feels a swell of irritation, of unadulterated rage that asks him to burn cities, destroy continents, paint himself in _blood_ \- And he brushes it off, pushes it down, and locks her out. War pouts, painted red lips simply oozing disappointment.

“No fair. Can’t a girl have some fun?”

Andrew doesn’t even expend the effort of glaring, just channels his usual, overwhelming sense of boredom, and looks at her. War sighs.

“Come now, you can’t even muster up a bit of small talk? It is ever so hard to find company with a common background. So few remember the greatest points in history.” She looks wistful for a brief moment. “The Crusades, now those were fun. ‘World’ Wars, of course, and not just the famed two. Such a shame these new-fangled nuclear weapons mean that I can’t _really_ have some fun without risking the extinction of the human race.”

“Such a shame.” Andrew deadpans. 

War looks down her nose at him. “You should’ve sent the other one, your little demonic boyfriend. He would’ve been much more entertaining. Of course, he has trouble shutting up at all, but still, he just looks so _edible_ when he’s angry.” She licks her lips, and despite all of his concentration, Andrew can feel the stirrings of rage. His wings, out of sight, twitch. 

War wouldn’t be a horseman, if she wasn’t able to pick out sore spots. He can see the instant she realizes she’s found one. Her smile turns into a leer. 

“Yes, I’m sure he’s quite a naughty little demon. Needs to be taught how to be a good boy, needs to be punished. Do you make him beg?”

Andrew has her by the throat before he registers moving. He’s angry, but, unlike Neil, he doesn’t run hot. He runs down and vicious cold. His smile, when he finally lets it overtake his face, feels like ice shards tearing into skin. Like the snarl of a wounded predator.

He squeezes. War laughs.

“Good, good,” she wheezes. “Just wanted to make sure there was something lurking under those still waters of yours. One can never be sure with angels.”

Andrew loosens his grip, and steps back. He’s given away too much, that stupid demon has left a whole in his defenses visible from space, and he _hates_ him. 

But War only smiles, and doesn’t press her advantage. “Now that we’ve reestablished that I’ve power enough to control even the likes of you, would you care to start over?”

It’s a warning and Andrew heeds it, for all that he’d like to smite her. He’s doing this for Neil, to protect him like he’d promised.

“I have an offer to make the four of you.”

 

By the time Andrew has finished with his arrangements, it’s later than he planned. Thankfully, his double played goal for him, if rather carelessly, and its doubtful anyone would know the difference.

When he appears back on the roof, Neil’s waiting for him with the double.

The demon looks rather frayed around the edges, a twitchiness to him that seems to prelude running. He’s also shivering in the cool night air. Preempting the chattering teeth, Andrew warms the air around him. Neil’s head jerks up immediately.

“Andrew!” Neil shoots to his feet as Andrew banishes the double. For the first time, he notices the shopping bags by the demon’s feet. “Where were you? I saw the double and-” Neil swallows the rest of what he’d been about to say, but Andrew can imagine it anyway _and I was worried_ or some trite nonsense like that.

He really does hate him.

“Off doing my angelic duty. Not all of us are wearing a leash anymore.”

Andrew watches Neil’s shoulders slump as he sighs. There might be relief in his smirk, as he returns, “You? Angelic? Perish the thought.”

Andrew snorts and doesn’t deign to respond. After a moment, Neil clears his throat and nudges the shopping bags with his foot. “Well, I got you something, since I wasn’t sure if, well.” Neil digs out a carton of ice cream and a pack of cigarettes.

“Ninety one.” Andrew says, but he reaches out to take the ice cream. There are some things that humans have done indisputably well, the main one being sweets. If nothing else, Andrew wouldn’t survive a reassignment to heaven without something to satisfy his sweet tooth. He settles on the ledge bordering the roof. Neil joins him, not in his personal space, but close enough that his presence is obvious. 

Andrew pulls two spoons out of his pocket that weren’t there a moment before. He hands one to Neil. 

The ice cream is good, despite the fact that Neil wrinkles his nose after the first bite and refuses anymore. As the demon smokes, Andrew puts away the entire carton. 

Neil is infuriating to look at, as always. Most of him is shadows, a dark lump of limbs and torso that are indistinct unless Andrew really tries. There’s enough moonlight to paint his cheekbones and glint off his hair. Every time he takes a drag of the cigarette, the cherry red light casts his face in odd shades and Andrew hates him. He hates that he looks, and he hates that Neil knows he’s looking judging by his smirk, but mostly he hates the traitorous attachment to the enemy that festered over six thousand years until it became something else entirely.

After Andrew sets his carton down, he reaches out and taps two fingers to Neil’s wrist. He waits for the demon’s undivided attention.

“Yes or no?” He asks. Neil stubs out his cigarette on the ledge, and the last bit of smoke curls between them. 

“Yes.” Immediately, Andrew curls a hand around Neil’s jaw and kisses him. He tastes of smoke and something warm that Andrew can’t describe, something old. As much as he tries to distance himself, he’s drawn into Neil’s orbit, so unable to detach himself that it would be funny if it weren’t such a big weakness. 

It’s rightness and balance, and Andrew hates wanting something so easy to take away, to ruin. He tries to imagine Neil leaving again, and wants to tear something apart with his bare hands. Maybe a building.

Neil makes a sound into his mouth, almost a whimper and Andrew swallows it. He drags a hand through Neil’s hair, scratching against his scalp, and is rewarded with another sound, an almost gasp.

When Andrew finally pulls back, untangling his fingers from Neil’s hair, he looks wrecked, debauched, _sinful_.

“You should sleep.” Andrew says.

Neil looks dazed. “I’m- um. Not tired. Don’t need sleep.” 

Andrew almost rolls his eyes, and Neil clearly catches it. “Go to bed, idiot.”

“Can I get a good night kiss?” Neil grins, like the demon he is. Andrew snarls a bit, twists a hand in Neil’s shirt color, and kisses him roughly.

Neil seems even less inclined to go to bed, but he follows Andrew inside quietly enough. He doesn’t bother responding to the quiet good night before he slips back into the dorm.

 

At practice the next afternoon, Neil gets up from the couch like he intends to follow them onto the court, and over Wymack snapping, and Matt’s too loud concern, Andrew grabs the back of his neck and pushes him back down. Despite the fact that they could both be immovable stone when they wanted, Neil relaxes into Andrew’s grip. A traitorous part of his brain doubts that its only because his powers haven’t come back.

“Sit down and be still, idiot.” Andrew says, paying more attention to Kevin than the demon under his hand. But maybe he holds his grip too long, because Dan and Allison both eye him speculatively for the entire scrimmage. The irritation makes him careless.

When he reclaims his seat next to Neil, intending to zone out Wymack’s rambling, he slips one of his blessed knives out of its sheath and begins to fiddle with it. Neil flinches away from him bodily, and all conversation grinds to a halt.

Neil meets his eyes for a second, unreadable as he’s ever been, before his focus reasserts itself toward the blade. 

“Sorry, it’s just…” Neil’s mouth works for a moment, like he’s struggling to get the words out. Andrew wants to shake him, but he’s still frozen in place, unable to forget the moment Neil flinched from him, and just how wrong it was. “He went to so much trouble to find the right blade to hurt me with.”

The fiery rage that the words light in Andrew’s stomach also unfreeze him. The knife disappears into his sheath so smoothly it’s like it was never there. Over Neil’s shoulder, he meets Renee’s eyes, dark with memories. Her own history with knives, and bloody, personalized torture strips the cheerful mask from her face. What looks back is what drew Andrew to her in the first place, a deep, broken, and dark power. 

The moment breaks, and Andrew turns his attention back to Neil. “He will never touch you again after I bury this one in his gut.”

Because Neil is an idiot, those words make him relax. Slowly, the conversation around them picks up again, but it takes longer for Neil’s eyes to stop burning holes into the side of his face. 

 

Renee knocks on his door around four that night. Andrew has been expecting this for the last few days, and he follows her without comment. 

She takes him down to the Fox Tower basement, and locks the door behind them. Andrew removes his daggers in preparation for a spar, but Renee sits crosslegged rather than assuming any kind of ready position. Deciding to humor her, Andrew follows.

Without the ambrosia twisting him around and binding him tight, he’s able to see Renee more clearly, recognize the power in her core. He can see the taint of dark magic, still lurking beneath surface, but also the overwhelming light, strong enough to hide the dark. If anything, she’s more fascinating now, this way. (A small traitorous part of him wonders whether she’s strong enough to have a longer life, if maybe she’ll stay, like Neil. He doesn’t dwell on it long because the world is not kind.)

“Hello, Andrew.” Renee says. Her eyes scrape up and down, lingering on the blankness of his face. Finally, she smiles, fierce, so unlike the tame Renee that the other Foxes know. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

Andrew arches an eyebrow. “Hello, Renee.” He doesn’t say that it’s good to see she’s still interesting without Heaven clouding his mind, even though he’s thinking it. 

“Is this permanent now?” Renee asks. “Are they leaving you alone?”

Andrew decides on honesty. “I’m working on it.”

“Can I help?”

“Maybe. I will let you know.” Based on the title of the book that Neil had been reading, there’s a chance that Renee might have contacts, people who can provide the tools to guarantee their safety once and for all. But Neil has not confessed his plans to Andrew yet, so he will wait in silence for the demon to realize he doesn’t have to do everything alone.

If nothing else, Renee is a formidable ally to have on his side in a fight. She wouldn’t last a second against Lucifer himself or even Neil and Andrew in top form, but against a normal demon, she could prove invaluable.

For now, Renee stands and puts out a hand to pull Andrew to his feet. Even though she likely does it on automatic, Andrew stares at the hand for a long, weighted second before taking it. A human, or almost human, that knows exactly what he is, in excruciating detail. A human that still reaches out a hand to help.

Renee cracks her knuckles and shifts smoothly into a fighting stance. “Now that you can keep me contained, I’d like to fight with magic today.”

Andrew nods.

She feints to the right, before coming in on the left with a roundhouse kick. A mistake she hasn’t made in ages, as Andrew grabs her leg, prepared to throw her over his shoulder. The second he makes contact with her skin, a shock of magic tosses him backward. Andrew barely keeps his balance. Renee grins her fierce, dangerous smile.

 

Exy is irritating. Without the ambrosia to fight constantly, he can dedicate even less of his attention to it. It’s painfully easy, without cheating, to bat away his teammates’ shots. Even Kevin barely makes him work for it, so Andrew decides to start entertaining himself by firing the balls at the others’ feet. Not a very angelic thing to do, but Andrew regrets ever actually attending practice instead of sending a double to do it for him. 

At least this way, he gets to watch the humans scramble to keep their balance. Andrew wouldn’t let them get damaged, not permanently, because Neil would kill him, but it isn’t like they know that. Apparently, neither does Wymack, because practice stops and Neil steps onto the court.

Andrew wants to snarl at him, force him away, kiss him. Neil should be resting, if he ever wants to get his powers back. He forces the thought into Neil’s head, and can see him roll his eyes all the way from the goal.

 _Relax. I’m not playing_. Andrew hates him.

Neil stops on the outside of Andrew’s personal space, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Hey, angel. Coach wants to know what you have against the offense line.” A smirk plays around Neil’s mouth, a smug twitch that Andrew reads as _aren’t humans just precious?_

Andrew snorts. “As if you don’t appreciate the chaos I’m creating, demon.”

Neil shrugs, that same damned smirk playing around his mouth. “Of course I do. But he seems strangely worried that you’ll break one of them and knock us out of championships.”

“Why should I care? Exy is a stupid, human sport, and a championship means nothing to beings like us.” 

The smirk falls away, and the demon looks disturbingly serious. “Because I want to beat Riko at his own game, destroy him on this plane even if I can’t do anything permanent. I want to take his fame, his fans, his overblown ego, and shatter them all to pieces. That’s more damaging than any retribution the afterlife could ever bring, because we both know that it’s earth that matters, that will actually hurt him, not Heaven and certainly not Hell.” Fire burns behind Neil’s eyes, along with a simmering darkness that reminds Andrew that for all that Neil acts the part of a hero, this is who he is. The tempter, the punisher, brimstone and flames and screams. 

“Do your teammates still insist on seeing you as a hurt puppy?” Andrew asks him, genuinely curious.

Neil smiles. “They’re your teammates too. This championship might not matter for us, not really, but it matters for them. Stop cutting them off at the knees before they have the chance to try.”

Stupid, infuriating demon. “I’m done giving humans chances. I don’t see a point.” And he didn’t really. There were humans he’d helped, humans he’d tolerated, humans he’d even protected, but without another motive, there wasn’t a point. He could save them or help them and in a hundred years they would still be dead. They weren’t permanent. (Not even the ones Andrew had liked and cared for and admired. They died, all of them, and he’d decided long ago that caring for anything with a finite lifespan was pointless.)

“Andrew…” Neil looks sad. “We both know they’ll die and be forgotten by all except us two. But they’re the only creatures in all of creation that change and grow and innovate. They love so deeply and so wholly, and even though it hurts, it’s worth it.” Andrew watches the line of Neil’s throat as he swallows. “They burn brief, but brighter than any of angelic stock could ever dream of. They can change– no, they _have_ changed even us. So why not give them a chance to keep at it?”

Something burns in Andrew’s stomach, hot and painful. He thinks of Oscar Wilde’s passion, of Socrates’s unending questions, of Hammurabi’s steadfast code. He thinks of the humans never noted in any history books, of the small child he gave a melon to, of the farmer’s daughter in China that saved her entire village from a fire, of the hundreds of humans that were nothing more than decent, good people, that Andrew watched over. 

He thinks of Nicky’s bright smile and unthinking love. Of Dan Wild’s fire, of Matt Boyd’s kindness, of Allison Reynold’s boldness. He thinks of them, and he can smell the smoke of the first fire.

Perhaps. 

But they’ll die. Kevin will stop leaving Exy magazines and history books stacked in precarious piles, because he’ll die. Wymack will stop putting his time into lost causes, because he’ll die. Aaron- no. Andrew isn’t quite ready to think about Aaron yet. But they’ll all die, and as much as Neil romanticizes their brightness, it is their briefness which will leave its mark. 

Neil watches him, steady and unmoving. This one, at least, is one he can keep. 

“I will consider it. But you will owe me something.”

Neil’s smile is bright enough to hurt. Andrew can feel the others watching them, and it’s the only thing that stops him from asking permission to cover that smile with his lips. “Anything.”

“Idiot. Eden’s tomorrow.” Neil nods, stupid smile still in place. Wymack’s eyes return to Andrew over and over, as practice resumes and he stops aiming for his teammates. Balls hit the opposite goal, and Andrew doesn’t meet his gaze.

 

Tomorrow comes. Thirty minutes before they’re due to leave, Andrew glances out the window to check that the other humans are gone. When he sees that they are, he heads for Neil’s room.

“Andrew, where are you going? We leave in half an hour-”

He lets the door slam and cut off Kevin’s incessant whining. The lock on Neil’s room doesn’t slow him down for more than a second, before he pushes his way into the suite.

Neil’s in the bedroom, back to the door. He’s wearing the same black jeans from their first trip and nothing else, and he looks over his shoulder as Andrew leans against the doorjamb.

“Hey, angel.” Neil smiles, and Andrew’s chest feels like it’s cracking open. It’s white hot heat, a burning need to protect, and lurking desire, at the sight of Neil’s pale shoulder, to _bite_. “Which shirt should I wear?”

Andrew rolls his eyes and picks one that will show off the wiry strength in Neil’s arms, but he doesn’t hand it over.

His eyes trace the scars across the demon’s body, the healing bruises and cuts, and he stops himself from reaching out, before remembering he can do that now. Andrew raises a hand and waits for Neil’s nod. With just his index finger, Andrew traces the shape of the brand, so close to ripping Neil away from him, so close to ruining the only thing that’s ever mattered to Andrew. He covers the mark with a hand, and Neil shivers. 

The stupid demon’s eyes flutter closed, like he trusts Andrew to handle him carefully. A spark of rage dies before his hand can even tighten on Neil’s shoulder. His thumb finds a bullet hole, puckered and scarred. A flush works its way down Neil’s throat to his chest, and Andrew moves away from it. He traces the slashes across Neil’s gut with light pressure, not like he’s afraid of what could happen, because Andrew doesn’t do fear, but with the obvious reminder that he could press harder, peel the skin from Neil’s bones and look inside him.

Neil swallows hard, and the sound is very loud in the very quiet room. 

“Andrew. Can- Can I kiss you?”

Andrew considers. “Yes.”

Neil leans forward and kisses him fiercely, more fiercely than he has up to this point. Andrew curves a hand around the base of his skull and pulls him closer. The sound Neil makes is gratifying. 

Andrew drops the shirt.

His hand is dangling empty now, and without really thinking he reaches for Neil’s right hand, dragging it up to bury in Andrew’s hair.

It curls slightly, before pushing outwards almost curiously. To his everlasting surprise, Andrew has to swallow down a noise of his own, one that feels suspiciously like a whimper. Then Neil stops kissing him, which is irritating, and more irritating because it irritates him in the first place.

“Andrew.” He sounds breathless, like either of them even need air. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, idiot.” He punctuates it with another kiss. Both of Neil’s hands find their way into his hair, petting and holding, and Andrew hates how much he likes this, how much he wants this and more, forever.

There’s a knock on the door. And then Nicky’s voice, “Neil, are you in there? We’re supposed to be going to Columbia, but we can’t find Andrew.”

Andrew steps back, and Neil’s hands drop from his hair reluctantly. The idiot looks like the picture of temptation, lips red and wet, flush creeping down his bare chest, black jeans clinging to every muscle in his thighs. Andrew swallows hard, and fights to find impassivity to pull over the wildfire in his chest.

He scoops the shirt off of the floor and throws it at the stupid demon’s face.

Nicky looks surprised and then confused when Andrew answers the door instead of Neil. But there’s something almost calculating in his eyes when Neil follows him out, clearly dressed to join them. 

Andrew points Neil to the passenger seat of the car, and he goes without comment for once. Beneath his smirk, the demon looks almost dazed. The fierce satisfaction catches Andrew by surprise. It’s disconcerting to feel so many different things, to feel anything at all besides boredom. 

Neil barely makes a dent in the ice cream Andrew orders for him. So Andrew ignores the stares of the others and accepts the dish Neil offers him. It would be shame for it to go to waste after all.

Eden’s is packed, but with a bit of effort no one encroaches on Andrew’s personal space. He ignores the fact that he’s doing the same for Neil, almost unconsciously. Aaron, Nicky, and even Kevin after he looks between the two of them, slip off to the dance floor. Together, Andrew and Neil work through the tray of drinks. Even this is different, better, without the ambrosia. Too many stupid, human indulgences he would miss now. Earth is his– _their’s_ , for better or for worse. 

Neil’s eyes haven’t left him all night. In spite of the empty glasses piling between them, there’s something like hunger in the way that the demon’s eyes trace his neck, along with a sly curiosity.

Andrew’s patience reaches its limit and he stands. He gestures for Neil to follow him outside, and the demon does, even as he leads him around a corner, out of sight of the club. 

With an effort of will, Andrew banishes the alcohol from his bloodstream. Unfortunately, his need to press Neil against the brick wall does not disappear with it.

“Andrew, what–”

“Sober up.” He says. Neil takes one look at him, and does.

“What’s wrong? Is it–”

Andrew’s patience really has reached its limit, because he interrupts Neil again. “Yes or no?”

A look of delighted understanding flashes across Neil’s face, and Andrew wants to murder him. “Yes, always yes.”

Andrew snarls wordlessly and kisses him.

It’s like a magnet is forcing them together. Every time Andrew tries to step back, the pull gets stronger, and he wants Neil, wants him like he’s never wanted anything before.

He’s not supposed to. He’s supposed to be distant and detached and bored, and most of the time he is, but then Neil _looks_ at him and. 

And.

They’re both breathless when Andrew steps back, but he abruptly wants more, wants to see Neil _fall apart_.

“Can I touch you, yes or no?” For a second Neil looks confused, then understanding darkens his eyes and he grins, fierce and sharp.

“Yes.” 

Andrew brings Neil’s dangling hands up to his hair again, and tells him, “Just here.”

Neil holds on tight but not too tight, as Andrew pushes him over the edge. He muffles the stupid demon’s cry with his mouth, and braces Neil against the wall when he goes limp.

His expression is half shadow, but blissful and glazed over. Andrew hates that he memorizes the expression, that his blood is on fire. Neil smiles at him, lazy and pleasure-tinged, and something in Andrew’s very essence crows, shifts, and _clicks_. 

And then Neil’s eyes go abruptly wide, his back arches, and he gasps, “Oh.”

A rush of power floods the space between them, and it takes a good deal of Andrew’s concentration the stop the entire city from burning to ash.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Um hi everyone and I am so, so sorry for how long it's been. Classes were hard, and then I was abroad, and then I spent the past couple of months doing a lot of original writing. BUT, hello again! Thanks to everyone for sticking with this fic, and I'm in the middle of responding to my backlog of comments. I really appreciate everyone being patient and also enthusiastic about this universe!
> 
> The Good Omens tv show came out if you've somehow managed to miss all the hype, and after watching it twice I remembered that this AU was a thing that I needed to keep working on. I would highly recommend giving the show a try. My fic is based on a fusion with the book, but it should work fine if you've only seen the show.
> 
> Anyway, enough about me! Shout out to bioluminescent for motivating me even when I've slacked off for nearly a year and also pointing out some typos. All mistakes are my own. Warnings for references to graphic violence/panic attacks/other themes that appear in the books.

_When Nathaniel falls from Heaven, it isn’t for something he did._

_Morael comes to find him one night, fire in his eyes, back when any of them still_ had _fire in their eyes. “He wants something more for us, something great,” Morael tells him, perched in empty air, wings arced behind him. His face, or what approximates a face when they are in their true forms, glows with purpose, determination. Out of the two of them, it has always been Morael who has fought, longed for, and reached for something beyond. Most days, Nathaniel is happy with clouds beneath his wings and a changing world below him. “Aren’t you bored?”_

_Nathaniel freezes, stilling down to the essence. Those are treasonous words. But his instinctive reaction is not to scorn his friend, but to say,_ yes, Father, yes. _“Morael…”_

_“Please, Nathaniel, give him a chance. Just come with me next time, yeah?”_

_Next time, Nathaniel stands before the Morningstar and regrets._

_“Nathaniel, is it? Morael speaks highly of you.” Nathaniel can’t look at him, he’s too bright. His essence flinches back and he believes for the first time, wholeheartedly, that this being alone lit the stars, breathed them to life within a moment. “Look at me.” A command, and Nathaniel’s traitorous temper flares. “Good, a spark of fire left somewhere in that empty vessel.”_

_Nathaniel looks and loses his breath. The Morningstar is beautiful, breathtaking, and angry. It is Nathaniel’s traitorous temper, twisted tighter, higher, and fiercer. An anger that lashes out to cripple everyone around it. This is not a thing meant for angels, not a divisive, imperfect thing they are built to feel._

_Nathaniel feels it, when those outside of Him try to command his actions. The Morningstar feels it all the time._

_But like recognizes like, and at that moment, the Morningstar smiles. “Fire_ and _ice. Now, Nathaniel, how have you evaded my sight for so long?”_

_Nathaniel doesn’t respond and doesn’t return, despite all of Morael’s pleading. It–_ he _is too much. That smile promised worse things than what Morael claimed to see, promised pain and regret and fire that burned not healed. Even the way the Morningstar said his name,_ Nathaniel, _twisted it into something wrong. Something hated._

_And when the Morningstar falls, an eon or a second later, after a battle from which Nathaniel hid. When the Morningstar falls and his followers fall with him. When the Morningstar falls and Morael screams. When. The Morningstar stares into Nathaniel as he plummets and Nathaniel knows, even before the pain begins._

_Even before he stood in front of the Morningstar, and like recognized like, Nathaniel had ceased to fit the mold, had harbored treacherous resentment in his essence. And so the pain begins and he Falls and when he wakes, the Morningstar cups his shattered essence in one hand and reshapes him into a demon. “You are fire and ice,” he says. And so Nathaniel is, ice for eyes and fire for hair, both of which_ burn–

 

Neil’s burning. Hot and cold searing him from the inside out, and it hurts, it can’t stay, so he pushes it out, out, out–

But something pushes back, tells him to keep it in, and Neil would snarl, fight, but it doesn’t feel like a threat even as it hurts him, it feels like the opposite, feels like safety, like– oh. Andrew.

Everything quiets, and Neil opens his eyes.

 

It takes a few moments to adjust himself to this century, this body. Andrew is kneeling by his side, looming over him, and Neil centers himself on his face, his eyes that have hardly changed in millennia. 

Andrew reaches out, angel to demon, and presses against his cheek with two fingers. Neil lets himself be turned. “Staring.”

Neil pulls himself up into a sitting position, leaning against the dirty wall. The alley is a mess, dumpster turned upside down, small fires flickering out even now. Andrew appears untouched, not a hair out of place, but when Neil looks down the cuffs of his pants are smoldering and his shoes are gone. Oops. Andrew sits down beside him and passes over a cigarette. Neil lights it with a thought and takes a drag before the act catches up with him.

“Oh,” he says, and summons a ball of light to hover in his hands. With a flick of his fingers, the alley sets itself to rights and Andrew’s shoes appear, cleaner than they’ve been in years. “That’s a relief.”

“Idiot.”

Neil lets the smoke curl around him, until he finds strength enough to smirk. “So, that was fun. I’d even call it explosive. Gave me quite a rush. Felt like I’d been touched by an-”

Andrew slaps a hand over his mouth. “I _will_ kill you.”

Neil shrugs and thinks his words at Andrew instead. _I mean, if you want, but you know I’d just take you down with me and that stopped being fun centuries ago._

Andrew almost growls and Neil would be pleased with his power to irritate but he’s too busy getting to know Andrew’s mouth.

 

Being more than a shell of a demon again doesn’t change much. Neil keeps the bruises painted on his skin for decoration, pretends that he still needs time before he can take the court, and eases himself slowly in. It would be irritating, if he didn’t have the patience of millennia behind him. The only thing that changes, now, is that when Andrew sends him the image of a cigarette, he doesn’t have to climb the stairs up to the roof.

Off the court is a different story. Neil might be resigned to his death, but he, for once, is not about to take Andrew down with him. Now that he can use his power again, and with Andrew nearby to blame the residue on, he begins his search.

Back long ago, immediately after the First War, contingencies were put into place to prevent the Last War from coming too soon. Contingencies Neil wasn’t supposed to know about, but, well. Nosiness may not be a virtue, but considering he created vice that doesn’t much bother him.

So, Neil knows about the seven, maybe twelve, artifacts that serve as the pillars of Heaven. It was a simple idea, at first glance—make the very existence of Heaven dependent on the well-being of Earth, and angels have no choice to keep the little planet very safe. It became even more clever when one considered that angels—Falling ones specifically—would not as it is, Fall to Earth. They would, in fact, Fall through another door, through a path that Neil knew quite well once, into a place a mite bit less welcoming.

Aaron is the exception to this framework, but Neil also knows that Aaron did something far more dangerous than Falling—Becoming. Either way, the existence of these artifacts ensures that both Heaven and Hell stay in their lane. If Earth is damaged too much, then Heaven falls, Hell is invaded, and the two self-destruct. The Last War will come, of course, when these protections are outweighed by the need to End, but as far as Neil knows that disaster’s a while off yet. 

Andrew probably won’t like Neil's plan, which is why Neil decides not to bring it up until approximately the last possible second. 

Now that he has his powers back, Neil has more freedom. Grand displays of power—like creating a functioning, near-sentient double—are out of the question, but a quick nip to another city in the United States won’t trigger any alarms with Down There. As for the Moriyamas, it’s not like they don’t know exactly where he is anyway.

Because Neil can’t conceal his absence like Andrew, he waits until the dead of night, long after Matt’s snores have reached their peak and the taste of Andrew has faded from his mouth. Quietly, he stuffs a pillow under his blankets and a wad of sweatshirts so that they almost approximate the shape of his body. And then he blinks.

He lands on the bank of the Charles River and is immediately taken off guard by the cold. There’s snow on the ground and if it weren’t for the return of his powers, Neil would be miserable. It’s a mystery to him why the humans ever choose to live in cities like Boston, that vacillate between freezing and boiling with perhaps a month of nice weather in between. 

He sets off for the Common at a brisk walk, sliding a bit on the ice coating the sidewalks. He doesn’t fall because he doesn’t wish to. The statues are right where he expected them to be, gleaming gold and otherworldly in the glow of the city. He crouches down in front of the biggest of them.

After a brief moment of hoping that his research isn’t about to render him a fool, Neil reaches into his pocket and pulls out a roll of bread. He breaks off a small piece, pushes a minuscule bit of infernal power into the crumb, and stretches out his hand to just below the cold metal beak.

For a long moment, as Neil’s shoes soak through with snow, he resigns himself to a dead end. Just as he’s about to give up, and never ever mention his brief moment of insanity to Andrew, the mother duck shifts. It tilts its head for a moment, studying him with a single, cold eye. Finally, it leans forward and snaps the crumb from his palm. Neil holds his breath, but the little thing seems to decide quickly enough and gives a sharp nod. On cue, Neil’s soaked through sneakers are swarmed by eight frozen metal ducklings. 

He smiles before he can stop himself, relishing in the excited scramble when he scatters a few more crumbs. When the roll is gone, and the ducklings seemingly satisfied, one approaches and opens its beak wide. On its tongue rests a little ball, not unlike a marble except for its glow.

Neil reaches out to grab it, one of the twelve, maybe seven pillars of Heaven, and screams. Of course it would burn him, it’s a holy artifact and he’s by definition the opposite, but he wasn’t anticipating how much it would _hurt_. It lights him up from the inside out with the sense of wrongness and punishment, and rightness and loss and memory.

Neil’s first reaction is to drop it, a quite reasonable reaction really, but then he remembers that this is for Andrew, to keeps Andrew safe and alive even after he’s gone and well- it hurts a little bit less after he remembers that. 

The second it loses contact with his skin, secured as well as he can manage in his pocket, it stops hurting. When Neil dares to look down at his hand, a circular, blistering burn rests in the middle of his palm. It hurts a bit to make a fist. Andrew is not going to let this one go.

The statues have all slipped back into their original positions, frozen and still. As Neil readies himself to return to Palmetto State and his Foxes, he would swear that the mother winks at him.

He lands back in his room with hardly a sound. Matt snores on like he never left as Neil very gingerly removes the ball from his pocket with a pair of tweezers and stores it in his duffel bag. Here’s hoping Andrew doesn’t deign to search his things again.

 

The next night, on the roof, Andrew grabs his wrist. Neil did his best all day not to favor the hand, but occasionally, when he thought no one was looking, he allowed himself to feel the hurt. Of course, Andrew is always looking.

Neil stares at the sharp line of Andrew’s nose and the furrow of his eyebrows. Now that he’s done it the once, Neil wants to kiss him all the time. On the court, in the dining hall, when he’s scowling over Aaron’s essays and making them imperceptibly _better._

“What is this,” Andrew says. Neil refuses to look down at the blister on his palm. “Neil.”

“I’m fine. Just mishandled some of my blades.” Neil smiles. “Don’t worry about it, angel.”

Andrew makes a sound in his throat. He digs his nails lightly into Neil’s wrist. “Don’t lie to me, demon.”

“I can’t tell you. Not yet.” Neil catches Andrew’s gaze, finally. Gold sucks him in. “It’s not safe.”

“92%. I hate you,” Andrew says, but he kisses Neil anyway.

 

The upperclassmen corner him after practice. Neil has been easing back into the game, limiting his range of motion, faking winces and undergoing endless cycles of icing. Back at the dorms, Neil sprawls on the couch and catches the ice pack that Dan throws him.

“Dan! Don’t make him catch that, he’ll pull his stitches,” Matt says, in the process of ordering pizza. Neil catches Dan’s gaze as she rolls her eyes. 

Neil loves them. He does. Not the same way or amount that he loves Andrew, because nothing can touch that, but- He loves these humans who love him, who fight and struggle and survive. His very own foxes. 

Neil has never been a very good demon. Particularly when it comes to the whole no-emotions thing. But Dan curls into Matt’s side when he sits down, and they smile at each other, and Neil loves them too damn much to care.

Renee and Allison show up at the same time as the pizza does. When no one moves to put a movie on, Neil swallows his unease. 

“So, Neil.” Allison makes eating gooey pepperoni pizza look elegant. “Are you and Andrew fucking or what?”

Neil chokes on his soda. If it weren’t for the fact that he doesn’t truly need to breathe, he’d be dead. 

“Fucking Christ, Allison,” Matt says. 

“Don’t listen to her,” Dan says. “She’s the only one with any money on that bet and I think she’s trying to will it into being. It’s ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous,” Neil echoes. Allison narrows her eyes. 

“What we’re trying to ask, Neil, is if there’s something… special you do that makes Andrew listen to you,” Dan tries.

Neil considers telling her that he spent 6000 years badgering Andrew into cooperation but. He doesn’t quite think that’s the answer she’s looking for. “I just ask,” Neil says. It’s about as true as he can get.

“He just asks,” Allison snorts. “Pull the other one.” Even Renee looks skeptical.

Neil shrugs. “It’s the truth.”

“Damn,” Dan says. “Well, guess it’s back to life as usual then. Us and them. Last month was fun though.”

“Right back to where we were in August,” Matt agrees.

Neil takes a long minute to parse their meaning. He hadn’t really noticed the distance reappearing, the gulf between Andrew’s bunch and the rest. He’s been hard-pressed to notice anything, when he gets to kiss Andrew on the roof and plot a way to keep his angel alive. Everything else has kind of… faded into so much background noise. 

“No,” Allison says. She leans forward, elbows digging into her knees. Her blond hair falls like a curtain around her face. “That’s bullshit and I’m not going to let your sidestepping ruin my best chance at punching Riko in the face. How do you keep talking the monster into doing things he doesn’t want to do? Bribery? Blackmail?”

“He’s not a monster,” Neil snaps. Allison leans back, a smile playing on the edges of her mouth. Renee looks between them. There’s darkness in her eyes as she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Easy,” Dan says. She glares at Allison. “Easy, Neil. Andrew’s sober now and I know that’s a game changer. But he still seems to listen to you. Can you bring them back to us?”

Neil considers. He thinks about Andrew’s face on the court, the ancient sorrow that Neil could read out of his blankness: _I’m done giving humans chances._ All of the dead, all of those brief, bright creatures that the two of them had loved rise like specters behind his eyes. Is it fair? Is it fair to drag Andrew closer, enfold him into the brightness that these humans give off, attach him to their smiles and their laughter? Neil is lost already, but he’s always found this part easy. Is it fair to entrap and break them both should they live long enough for the others to die?

It’s selfish, Neil thinks. But, when Down There finally catches up, he doesn’t want Andrew to be alone.

“Why not ask Renee?” Neil tries. “Andrew listens to her.”

Renee catches his eye and shakes her head. She smiles, soft and understanding. “Not the same way he listens to you, Neil.” Things would be so much easier if she didn’t know the whole truth.

Neil closes his eyes and lets himself feel the weight of six millennia, just for a moment. “I’ll try,” he says, and it feels like a betrayal. “I can handle Andrew,” Neil continues, ignoring the smile that grows on Dan’s face, “but someone else has to deal with Aaron. Nicky wants to be your friend and Kevin knows the team is stronger as a whole, but Aaron’s almost as dead set against us as Andrew is.” _Against me_ , Neil doesn’t say.

“Katelyn has to know something,” Dan says. “No self-respecting girl would put up with that mess unless there was a really good reason.” Neil hasn’t given much thought to Katelyn. That was a mistake, most likely, because she has to be important if Andrew dislikes her so much. “I’ll try to get something out of her. If all else fails, Matt you’re on Aaron duty.”

She’s so much of a captain at the moment that Neil can’t help but smile.

 

Aaron and Andrew are a mystery that Neil has yet to solve. It bothers him sometimes, in an inexplicable way. He didn’t know Andrew before his Fall, or his twin Ariel. And yet, seeing them together, there is something horribly wrong about the distance between them. Andrew hadn’t talked about his twin, not once in all the years they’d spent together on Earth. But Neil remembers the aftermath of Drekavac, both times. The first, with Andrew bloodied and barely breathing, shattered to pieces and chained to stone. Neil remembers every second, of Andrew flinching back from his touch, screaming and half-delirious, asking for Ariel, was he safe, Abram, _Abram_.

The second with Andrew’s frantic hands and broken wings sheltering his brother, allowing him to touch back, even as Neil so carefully asked permission.

There is something wrong, and Neil is not about to make the mistake of asking Andrew what.

“There’s some kind of deal that they have,” Matt tells him the next morning. “Katelyn was fuzzy on the details. Apparently back when they first met, Andrew promised to protect Aaron and stick by him always or something along those lines. As long as Aaron stuck by Andrew. That apparently meant no friends, no girlfriends, nothing.” Neil nods. That makes sense, keeps in line with what Neil knows. 

Matt stares. “You’re nodding. Why are you nodding? This is not a nodding matter, that’s absolutely insane.”

“Aaron made a promise and Andrew will make him keep it. It’s not as crazy as it sounds.” Neil shrugs. “So what, then Katelyn enters the picture and Aaron breaks his deal?”

Matt continues staring like Neil’s gone mad. Eventually, he shakes his head with a frown. “Not… not exactly. Katelyn’s kind of fuzzy on this part, too. Apparently, Aaron thinks Andrew broke the deal first. Anything he does is fair game.”

Now Neil frowns. “Andrew doesn’t break deals. Ever.” 

“Katelyn said that Aaron never told her how Andrew broke their deal. But he’s convinced. She thinks it might have had to do with their mother?” Matt offers.

That can’t be right. Andrew killed her because she was hurting Aaron, and even if he didn’t like it, that couldn’t be construed as breaking their deal. He’d even kept Nicky safe. No. This must have to do with Before. Something to do with why Aaron became human.

“I changed my mind. I’ll take care of Aaron,” Neil says, mind whirring. “I’ve got an idea.”

 

Betsy looks altogether unsurprised to see him. What she lacks in surprise, she makes up for with a genuinely delighted smile. “Neil! It’s wonderful to see you looking more like yourself.” She doesn’t seem to mind that Neil has barged into her office between classes, or that her last patient had rushed out of her office nearly twenty minutes early for no apparent reason. 

Reluctantly, without his consent, Neil realizes he likes her. Ugh. Angels. First Andrew, and now this, an archangel that could unmake him with a thought. “Betsy,” Neil starts, “are you still keeping an eye on Andrew?” Neil takes the seat across from her. 

“Yes,” she says. There’s something wistful about the curve of her lips. “Up There doesn’t truly trust him to be on his own just yet. And, well, I was more than willing to keep spending time on Earth.”

_Oh,_ Neil thinks. He should have seen this coming. 

There’s something addicting about Earth, about humanity. They are fleeting, but ever-changing, a never-ending cascade of innovation and creativity. Earth is alive, vibrant, in a way that Heaven and Hell could never dream of. Neil remembers being bored, before he Fell. Neil remembers wanting more. He tries to imagine if all was forgiven, if he was allowed back among the ranks of the Host. 

There hadn’t been a doubt in Neil’s mind that Andrew wouldn’t survive that fate. It shouldn’t be such a shock to realize he wouldn’t either. And now Betsy. A kind, obedient archangel that has gotten a taste of Earth, of that vitality. Shit. Neil’s plans will need some workshopping then. 

“Right,” Neil says. “Well, I need your help.”

“I’m listening,” Betsy says. 

“How much do you know about why Aaron Fell?”

Betsy blinks, taken off guard. “Not much. It threw management into chaos and no one is quite sure how he did it. One of my side projects down here was supposed to be looking into it.” Betsy sighs. “But Aaron hasn’t been very cooperative.”

“There’s something wrong between him and Andrew.” Neil meets her eyes. “I need you to fix it.”

Betsy frowns. “I would love to, but Aaron prefers to stay out of range. Besides,” Betsy continues, “I have a degree in human psychology, not angel.”

It’s a weak protest. Neil doesn’t plan on letting it stand. “We both know that doesn’t matter. They need a mediator. If I can get Aaron and Andrew here, can you fix them?”

Betsy pauses. “I will certainly try.”

Neil shakes his head and stands. “Don’t try. Don’t guess. This is too important. Can you or can’t you?”

Betsy watches him for a long moment. She smiles. “Yes. If you can get them here, I will take care of it.” 

Neil nods. He turns to go.

“But just one thing. Why do you care about Aaron?” Betsy’s voice isn’t accusatory, just curious. Neil can give her this at least.

“I couldn’t care less about Aaron. Andrew needs him,” Neil says.

Betsy looks at him and there’s so much Love in her gaze that it takes Neil’s breath away. “You know,” she says softly. “I really do think your Fall was our loss.”

Neil gets out of there before she gives him hives.

 

Katelyn is easy enough to convince. Neil doesn’t even need to use anything extra to persuade her. She’s sweet and open in a way that Neil can’t help but admire. He almost understands what Aaron sees in her. She knows Aaron needs help, knows he needs Andrew, and knows that he won’t get either without a push. Katelyn knows other things too.

After Neil wrings out a promise of help from her, she puts a hand on his arm. “Aaron was wrong about you, I think.”

Neil blinks. “I’m sorry?”

“I knew he was biased, with his past and all, but I didn’t think it would matter.” Katelyn snorts. “After everything else, I should’ve known better than to think demon meant evil.”

Neil freezes. He can almost hear his corporation’s brain blaring an error message. “Demon?”

Katelyn pats his arm. “Aaron told me everything. Well, almost everything. He failed to mention that you’re a good person at heart, or that you’re head-over-heels for his brother.”

“Um.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t say anything,” Katelyn assures him. She smiles, conspiratorial. “Though anyone with eyes could see how much you matter to each other. Don’t let him get away.”

“Right,” Neil says, and flees. What is it with people complimenting him today?

 

They fly out to Texas for the first game of the season. Between Andrew, thoughts of Aaron, and the research that Neil conducts any spare second, Exy has taken a bit of a back seat. He loves it, he practices with Kevin every night, but the game takes him by surprise. 

Neil isn’t worried. He’s beaten the motions into this body’s muscles, and even if he doesn’t try to cheat, he knows he’s good. Neil isn’t worried, until halfway through Wymack’s pep-talk he looks up and sees Riko and Jean taking seats in the VIP section.

Neil forgets to breathe. There’s a collar around his throat, cutting off his air, cutting off his essence, and a holy blade cutting patterns into his skin. Wymack snaps his fingers in front of Neil’s face, but it doesn’t do much to bring him back to himself. When Wymack whips around to search the stands, Neil catches Andrew’s eye. 

Time crawls to a stop.

“Breathe, idiot,” Andrew says. He pulls off Neil’s helmet and then his own. Neil can’t find his voice. Andrew’s hand rests on the back of his neck and their foreheads press together. “Neil. You need to breathe.”

Neil tries. After a moment, the weight of the collar around his throat disappears, replaced by the weight of Andrew’s hand. He breathes. “Fuck,” Neil says. Andrew’s thumb rubs a small circle into Neil’s skin. 

Andrew lets time restart once Neil has strapped his helmet back on and regained some semblance of calm. If Andrew feels the strain, he doesn’t acknowledge it. 

Wymack turns around and fury burns in his eyes. The darkness in his soul shifts, twists. 

“What are they doing here?” Matt snaps and he’s just as angry.

“I’ll ask,” Andrew says. He turns, as if he means it. Neil catches the netting of his racquet and holds on. He’s breathing, but he doesn’t have the words to ask Andrew to stay. But the angel stops, catches Neil’s eye, and settles. 

“You’re not allowed to kill anyone the first game of the season,” Wymack says. But his eyes dart back and forth between Andrew and Neil as if he understands. When Andrew steps back into line, Wymack turns away. “Focus, Kevin. You too, Neil.” Neil barely hears him. Riko looks the same as the last time Neil saw him. Looming over Neil and kicking his ribs in. Dribbling holy water into his cuts. Digging a blade in, again and again and again- “Neil, eyes on me.”

Wymack’s voice is tight, serious. Maybe the human is remembering the same things, the bandages and the screaming and the glowing. Neil reminds himself to breathe. The phantom weight of Andrew’s hand on his neck grounds him. “I’m starting to think he likes me after all,” Neil says. With a brief effort of will, the person walking down the aisle next to Riko finds his shoelaces tied together. He trips and sends a cup of ice and soda down Riko’s back.

It’s petty, but it makes Neil feel better. When he looks over at Kevin, there’s color and perhaps even a bit of laughter on his face. Neil catches his eye and winks.

The Foxes win. When the buzzer sounds, Jean’s voice says, very quietly in the back of Neil’s head, _well done_. Neil doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t try to stop Renee from going over and saying hello either. 

“He likes her,” Neil tells Kevin, the two of them watching from the sidelines. 

Kevin scoffs. “Jean’s a demon.”

Neil says nothing, not until Kevin gives in and looks at him. “And?”

“Demon’s don’t-” Neil raises an eyebrow. “You’re a special case.”

“Humans are interesting,” Neil says. “He might not like her that way, but we both know Jean needs a friend. Give her his number.” Neil heads for the locker room.

If the reporters catch him on the way, and Neil happens to flash his number four and say some particularly incendiary things- well. He’s been such a good demon recently, sown so little chaos. He was getting bored. And if Neil takes the chance to knock some sense into Kevin at the same time, then let no one say it’s out of the goodness of his heart. 

Cowards are boring. These humans have too little time to hide behind their issues.

 

They get home late on Friday night. Neil feels worn-through exhausted, but the second that Matt’s breathing evens out, he goes to the roof. Andrew is waiting, swinging his legs over the side of the building.

The adrenaline from seeing Riko, confronting the reporters, and yelling at Kevin hasn’t really seeped out of him yet. Andrew barely glances at him before he passes over his cigarette. Andrew’s wings are out, gleaming in the darkness and he finds he can breathe a little easier. Neil lets his own wings out. He holds himself a careful distance away from Andrew, but sighs in relief when the angel lets their feathers brush together. They smoke in silence for a long time. 

“Why Exy?” Neil asks, finally. It’s been bothering him. Andrew usually attends practices, despite his new ability to create doubles and played a near shut-out that night. Wymack buys Andrew alcohol, but Andrew is also an immortal being that can create things from thin air. That can’t be the reason. 

Andrew doesn’t answer for a long time. 

Neil knows why he started playing. He’s always loved the way that humanity came up with new things. Without Andrew by his side, it was all he had, humanity’s never-ending turnover and creativity. Besides, Exy’s a challenge and a distraction and all the best and worst parts of humankind. 

“Aaron played it,” Andrew says. “It was another excuse to stay close.” 

Neil tilts his head. That doesn’t feel all-the-way-true, but Andrew doesn’t lie. “Then why goalkeeper?” 

“That was the open spot on Aaron’s team.” Neil knows it’s an evasion. But he doesn’t understand why. They both know Andrew could’ve had any spot by simply willing it. 

“No,” Neil says, and ignores the way that Andrew glares at him. “I don’t think that’s it. You let the humans run themselves into the ground and clean up behind them. You play the game like you’ve always played with humanity. That’s why you’re good at it.”

Andrew’s eyes are unreadable. “You fail to mention all of your messes that I have cleaned up over the centuries.” 

“We would be here all night,” Neil says. “Andrew. Why Exy?”

Andrew looks away. Neil stares at his silhouette, the sharp line of his nose, his jaw. His hair faintly glows with the light from their wings. 

“It is not your turn,” Andrew says. Neil hadn’t been keeping track, not really. “Tell me then, Abram, ‘why Exy?’”

Neil doesn’t think about lying. “I missed you. It seemed like a game you would appreciate. Lots of unnecessary but harmless violence,” Neil says. “It was as close as I could get to seeing you again.” Because Neil is watching so closely, he can see Andrew’s jaw tighten, a twitch of feathers. “Now, when I’m playing, I feel like I have control over something. I feel more real out there than I do anywhere except next to you. The court doesn’t care what I am or where I’m from or where I’ll be tomorrow. It just lets me exist."

“It is a court,” Andrew says after a beat. “It does not ‘let’ you do anything.”

“You know what I mean,” Neil says. “What gets to you like that? What gets under your skin?” Andrew turns back around and meets Neil’s gaze head-on. The silence is pointed. “Oh,” Neil says. 

“I hate you,” Andrew says, but he hovers a hand just above the side of Neil’s face. “Yes or no?”

“Yes,” Neil says. He can’t tell what knocks him more breathless, the kiss or the confirmation that he gets under Andrew’s skin. How is he supposed to die and give this up?


End file.
